


Days in the cabin

by Lady_Elwing



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: F/M, Poetry, bring in the cat, the cabin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 07:15:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28702773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Elwing/pseuds/Lady_Elwing
Summary: Just a middle of the night poem triggered by "So much life". It was supposed to be shippy but Bill Adama has too much within him to just write about that aspect.
Relationships: Lee "Apollo" Adama & William Adama, William Adama & Kara "Starbuck" Thrace, William Adama/Laura Roslin
Comments: 4
Kudos: 8





	Days in the cabin

The battlestar became a cabin.  
and the morning sun.

His men and women  
were tall trees  
and hasty squirrels

His CIC  
was his rickety table  
and steaming mug of tea.

His son   
was a river  
and the roaring stream.

And her?  
Oh her…

She was the whisper of the breeze.  
She was the thunder in the distance  
She was the pale winter sunset.

She was wrapped in his dreams.  
She was tangled in his hair.  
She was seamed in his days.

Oh Laura,  
he would smile.

Madam President,  
he would stand on attention.

Laura Roslin  
he would let a tear escape.

Just one.

Or else,

the rain would gush,  
the streams would rush,  
the world would hush.

And he would drown in memories.

Every day, the sun would rise.  
Like a fully functioning battlestar.

Every day, the trees would stand on attention.  
Like a perfectly trained crew.

Every day, the steam would dazzle him,  
Like a well lit CIC.

Beyond the hole he called window,

The river would keep on going,  
The wind would keep on calling.  
And the rain would trickle.

Silence.

Until one day,

The rain was falling,  
The wind was wailing,  
The river was roaring,

and there a scratch at his door.

In came that little thing,

That attitude,  
That gust of life,  
That mad spark,….

He named the cat Starbuck.

He’d tell her all about what had to be forgotten...

The worlds left behind,  
The faces left behind,  
The knowledge left behind.

She would pur,  
She would play,  
She would sleep.

Late at night,

He would ask her about Lee’s whereabouts.  
He would ask her about that cairn by his cabin.  
He would ask her about that devilish angel.

Harbinger of Death?

No.

Kara,  
Starbuck,  
Daughter.

Always here…

Gun blazing,  
Guts moves,  
Sparkling smile,

Meowing at the middle of the night for more food.

Sometimes, he’d sit by that beloved tomb.

And smile,  
And laugh,  
And sigh,

Oh Laura, you would have loved that cat.

Here ends the story,

Of the father that lead his children home.  
Of the lover that held her hand home.  
Of the man that found in death a home.


End file.
